Trainwreck
by Holz090
Summary: In the aftermath of as life changing reveal, Carla's life begins to unravel.
1. Chapter 1

Carla brushed a strand of hair from her face as she gazed into the mirror, starring hard the same reflection she'd been seeing for forty years. This time though, it was completely different. She had his mouth, she was sure of it. She had her mother's bone structure, she knew that. Sharon Donovan had been stunning once upon a time; before the drugs and the drink and the heartbreak had eroded her features and left behind only the gaunt, frail shell that was the only image of her Carla would ever remember. But her lips had been smaller, thinner. She struggled to fully picture the man she'd grown up believing to be her father, especially such a small detail so many years after she'd last seen him at the age of 12, but she was sure it hadn't look like that, either.

No, she'd definitely got that mouth from him. The way it curved just so when she smiled. The shape, the form, the colour - is lip colour even inherited from genes? For years she'd taken pride in her appearance, spent hundreds on makeup and facials over the years. But right at that moment, she'd never felt so ugly. It took all she had not to claw at her skin until nothing was distinguishable; she'd rather be horrifically disfigured that spend another day with that man's facial features.

Turning away from the mirror in disgust, she caught sight of her phone, the screen lit up as it rang, long since having been silenced. Eventually it rang out. 6 missed calls : Johnny Connor.

Johnny Connor. She grinned mockingly at the memory. Sat in this well decorated, tidy lounge, glass of brandy in one hand, remote in the other. Match Of The Day blaring. "This is one indulgence of the day" he'd protest. They'd all laugh, but it was true. He'd always been a family man as well as a businessman. Working long hours, but always finding time for day trips with the family; shopping, sports days, road trips. Carla had always been so jealous, wished with everything that she could have a family like that.

Oh, the irony.

But clearly, good old Johnny's family man facade had been as fake as her illusion of emotional stability. She strongly doubted her mother had been his only extra-marital fling. Not given the calm and collected manner he'd clearly dealt with it all. For years they must've passed on that estate. Drunk in the same pub, been part of the same family after Carla had married Paul - she couldn't even contemplate that one yet, and never once had he showed any signs of anything being wrong. Any regret, any remorse, was either non existent or hidden incredibly well. And no one just lies like that unless they've had practice.

In some ways, that made it oddly better. Maybe that perfect family life that he'd deprived her of, that she'd grown up envying, didn't exist at all. Maybe they were all deprived of it, not just the daughter he rejected. Maybe Aidan and Kate, the ones he wasn't ashamed of, had equally seen his public facade and wished it was real. But of course, that was selfishness. None of this was their fault. They hadn't asked for their father to sleep with another woman before they'd even been born, and hard as it going to be, she knew she'd have to remember that. It was the only reason she wasn't already on the phone to them, telling them everything in a 1000mph rant whilst downing a bottle of vodka.

The sound of the front door opening brought her back from her thoughts. "Carla? You in?" The upbeat tone in Nick's voice filled her with dread. Now she had to tell him.

The second he walked into the room, he noticed. She knew he would, even without the smudged mascara or the fact that she'd promised to meet him in the pub an hour ago and hadn't shown. He was by her side in seconds, kneeing in front of her as she perched precariously on the edge of the chair in front of the dresser. "Hey, what's up?"

She smiled through the tears that had already returned. With a deep breath, she spoke quietly. "You're gonna need a drink".


	2. Chapter 2 Flashforward

Thanks for the reviews so far. As usual this has been far too long coming, so I've done this the only way I can which is to just force myself to _write_ and get the damn thing posted before I talk myself out of it again. I've never been able to proofread my own writing, so apologies in advance for that one.

Consider this a flashforward. All will become clear, I hope.

* * *

It wasn't like Nick had expected. It looked like someone's lounge, not a hospital, and this made him both relieved and angry. It looked like an old people's home, not the intense treatment and recovery centre it needed to be. Clinically white walls and a chemical smell would've been stark and horrible, but at least it would've justified his actions, made him feel like something would change. There was something patronising about the fabric sofas and the actual, genuine fireplace across the room. Making that phone call has been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, and he wasn't sure he'd ever forgive himself. And all for what, so she could sit and watch daytime tv and eat biscuits? He was sure there was a huge operation behind the cosy facade, but he couldn't help but wish they hadn't tried to hide it from the guests.

And then he saw her, from a distance, across the room. She hadn't seen him, and he took the valuable moments to compose himself before going over. The armchair she sat awkwardly on drowned her, so apparent was her weight loss. He'd watched her gradually fade into nothing for months, but seeing her now, in a new context, made it all hit home somehow. Had he really let her get so bad before he'd acted? Her once chiseled, defined face now just looked gaunt. She looked so out of place, sat there in this room, so un-Carla like it was almost funny.

She'd seem him now, and she stood up to greet him, leaning in for a hug. He accepted, with a reluctance that worried him, and winced as he felt every bone in her back, trying to shake the fear of breaking her.

"Hey" Her voice was soft, barely audible. "Thanks for coming.". She indicated an empty chair next to her, which he pulled round and closer to her, taking her hand. Her skin was ice cold.

"Don't be silly. It's good to see you". He lied, and hated himself. The truth was, he'd have given anything to have had the strength to leave her be, to walk away; he had plenty of reason to. But how could he leave her like this, no matter what she'd done? Half of this was his fault, anyway.

She sniffed, and pulled her long sleeves over her hands before leaning closer. "To be honest, I wasn't convinced you'd come."

He smiled. "You know me Carla, can't keep away. So, how are you?" He cursed himself the second the words left his mouth. So stupid, so crass.

"Good.". She looked him straight in the eye, and smiled back. The ease in which she lied, the barrier that had shot right back up between them, was heartbreaking. They used to talk about everything.

"Good?"

"Yeah. Well, better than I was. Not that that says much!"

Silence fell over them as the past three months flashed over in Nick's mind. The drinking, the gambling, that night... It had almost killed him just to see it, he couldn't imagine how it could have been to live it.

"Yeah, well," he finally replied, forcing a grin, "when you told me to brace myself for a bumpy ride, you weren't kidding were you?!"

"I'm sorry." Her eyes fell to her lap now, unable to keep his gaze. "Sorry for, well, for everything. You didn't deserve any of it. I've treated you so badly and yet you're still here."

He grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly out of instinct, before realising his mistake and loosening his grip. "Listen to me, you were ill. None of this is your fault".

"No, I knew exactly what I was doing and I still did it. I still slept with Robert, still lied, and that was before... Well, you know."

More silence. Watching her now, so frail, so distant, so broken, he hated himself for the burst of anger he still felt at the mention of that man's name. He wished more than anything that he could somehow erase him from the story, pretend nothing had ever happened. He wished he didn't hate her for it, that he could somehow forgive it like he knew he should. Perhaps then they might have had a chance. Maybe none of this would have happened and they'd be jetting off for their honeymoon around about now, rather than sitting here among the ashes of a relationship they'd both treasured so much for so long. He'd tell her he didn't blame her, of course he would. He'd pretend he was a better man, that he could separate the betrayal and the person, accept that sometimes good people do terrible things, and that those terrible things don't make them terrible people. He knew he should know this, believe it. And he did, in some way. In some way, he loved her, he'd always love her, and he wished more than anything they could put it behind them. But he knew just as well that he never could, that they never could.

 _My fiancee has been sectioned and I'm sat here still blaming her for a cheap fling in a casino when her head was messed up._ He hated himself for being so simplistic, so cruel. But he couldn't deny his feelings anymore than she could deny hers. And looking at her now, he knew she knew this just as well as he did.

"We could've been good, couldn't we?" She finally broke the silence, startling him as she did so, causing him to jolt upwards.

"What?"

"We could've worked. We would've worked, I know it". She spoke slowly, softly, a tear forming in her eye. "For a minute there, we had it all. You were so kind, so loving. I never quite understood what I did to deserve it. I guess that was half the problem, really".

"How do you mean?"

"I'd just gotten used to it though, y'know? Finally started think that maybe, yeah, I did deserve it. It was my shot at some happiness and you... Well I liked to think I made you happy, for a while"

"Of course. You made me so happy, Carla".

She squeezed her eyes shut now, a tear escaping and falling rapidly down her face. "We had some good times, right? Remember that wine tasting night?" She chuckled mournfully at the memory.

"All those bosomy reds? I'll never drink red wine in quite the same way again!"

She smiled, a tear drop falling from her lip. "Well, I'm glad I made some impression on you anyway".

"The best".

"Who knows, in another life, this could've been our happy ending. We could've proved them all wrong".

"Absolutely." He forced himself to look directly at her. "Carla, I have to go."

"I know" she replied, dabbing her eye with a sleeve of her top, attempting to compose herself. "No rest for the wicked, eh?"

He did up his jacket, an attempt and busying himself enough to stop him crying with her more than anything. As he went to stand up, she put a hand on his knee, holding him in position. "Promise me one thing, Nicholas?" Why did she have to call him that? He couldn't help but associate it with the Carla of old, and it killed him.

"Sure"

"Promise me, when the next woman comes along, because she will, promise me I won't put you off. Promise you'll love her like you did me. Make her feel as special as I did. You have so much to give, and I'd hate if what happened with us stopped you being happy".

"Hey, you think you're my first heartbreak? Tougher than I look, me!" He tried to joke.

"I know you are."

He grabbed his visitor's card from the seat, and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Nick?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. I was so happy y'know. For a while".

"Likewise. Goodbye, Carla".

There was an awkward kiss on the cheek, before he turned again to leave, walking away without once allowing himself to look back. If he dared to for even for a second, he knew he wouldn't be able to do it. And he had to. He had to move on, for both their sakes.

There could be no going back.


End file.
